


A Cophine Carol

by arabybizarre, clonesanity, Cophinaphile, HaughtBreaker, jaybear1701, kind-of-always-late (intransient_adventure), LadyZephyr, OBFrankenfics, orphan_account, thecirclesquare, trylonandperisphere, tumblweed



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Christmas carol, F/F, Ghosts, cophine - Freeform, lots of ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5301152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabybizarre/pseuds/arabybizarre, https://archiveofourown.org/users/clonesanity/pseuds/clonesanity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cophinaphile/pseuds/Cophinaphile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaughtBreaker/pseuds/HaughtBreaker, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaybear1701/pseuds/jaybear1701, https://archiveofourown.org/users/intransient_adventure/pseuds/kind-of-always-late, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyZephyr/pseuds/LadyZephyr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OBFrankenfics/pseuds/OBFrankenfics, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecirclesquare/pseuds/thecirclesquare, https://archiveofourown.org/users/trylonandperisphere/pseuds/trylonandperisphere, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumblweed/pseuds/tumblweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosima has lost the holiday spirit. When she gets an unexpected visitor, will she turn around and see the joy of Christmas?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tis the season for cophine fanfic... falalalala lalalala. Anyway... OTP324B21 here. I get the honor of starting off a joyous journey into the cophine version of A Christmas Carol. This is going to be a round robin, meaning I'm getting off easy because I don't have to improvise at all. Instead, I get to set the scene, and the next writer has to just suffer with what I've decided to write. 
> 
> Why they would give me this power I don't know. But mwahahaha... 
> 
> Let’s just say that someone meticulously calculated the days in OB, and it turns out that the Cophine breakup happened right before christmas. So what if everything that happened in season three didn’t really happen and 3.1 created a whole different storyline… One filled with dread and joy, love and despair, and worst of all, a vision of things to come…

The halls of DYAD were eerily desolate, the mausoleum of a building having closed early in favor of the holiday. There was one lab, however, that remained open, techno music playing softly from a small bluetooth speaker as the two inhabitants worked, the whir of the centrifuge accompanying the complex pulses of bass beats.

"Cosima?"

Looking up from her microscope, the brunette pulled her glasses down, raising an eyebrow at her co-worker… no not her co-worker. He was less than that now, wasn't he? She was essentially his boss, especially since Delphine was back in Frankfurt…or wherever… Cosima shook her head, dismissing the thoughts. "What's up?" She didn't have time for these interruptions. The small reprieve in her health had allowed her to return to the lab, to look for a cure that would be lasting when her current wellness could change at any moment. How much time did she really have left?

Shifting uncomfortably, Scott gave her a timid look. "I know you're mad about… Delphine and all that and you're just trying to keep busy, but… do you think I can have tomorrow off?"

Her brows furrowing as she sat back, Cosima stripped off her gloves. Was he seriously asking what she thought he was? "Keep busy? Seriously Scott? I'm not keeping busy. This is important."

"No I get that." Scott quickly responded, his hands coming up in defense. "It's just...tomorrow's Christmas and I was hoping I could fly back to see my family… my sister just had a baby and I haven't met him yet. My mom offered to buy my ticket and…"

"Christmas?" Waving him off dismissively, Cosima slipped another pair of gloves on. "Don't be ridiculous. I need you here if I'm going to survive another month." Lifting her glasses again, she looked into the microscope again, observing the red blood cells. "Who celebrates Christmas anymore anyway? It's just some stupid marketing scheme revolving around a stolen pagan holiday." When there was no response to the trial, she sat back again with a curse, dropping her glasses to take notes in her lab journal. After a moment, sensing Scott was still standing there, she turned and rose an eyebrow in his direction. "Are you going to get back to work or are you going to let me and potentially dozens of my clones die because you want to meet some biological reaction to your sister's desperate attempt to keep her husband?"

Frozen in surprise, Scott opened and closed his mouth several times before he turned and returned to his station, his face a mask of confused despair.

They worked for another few hours, Scott staying to his side of the lab, his words limited as he found nothing to say to Cosima who was too engrossed in her own work to even care. When the clock hit 6, he began to pack away his things, slipping his bag over his shoulder as he paused in the doorway. "Merry Christmas, Cosima."

With a snort, Cosima applied the bandage to the crook of her arm, having taken yet another vial of blood from her own arm.

"Pauvre petit chiot." The French woman commented with a small smirk.

Preparing the vial, Cosima shook her head, attempting to dislodge the memories. She didn't have time for that nonsense. If Delphine wanted to be a bitch about the whole thing, she wasn't going to dwell on it. She wasn't some love-sick teenager that wasn't able to compartmentalize. She could function just fine on her own.

Christmas.

That was the last thing she needed. It was the last thing she wanted.

Hours later, when the windows had already darkened, covered in ice and snow, she stored away her samples, slipping on her coat. On the cab ride home, despite herself, she couldn't help wondering what Delphine was doing. Was she still in Toronto or had she returned to Frankfurt? Maybe she'd detoured home to France to see her parents. Did the Cormiers even celebrate Christmas? Delphine rarely spoke of her family, just that she'd spent most of her childhood in boarding school, her parents focusing more on their careers.

Cosima herself had been raised in a less than traditional household, her parents shunning materialism in lieu of volunteering at the local shelter or charity. This would be her first Christmas away from home, but really she wasn't sure who she could trust anymore. Were they her monitors? Did they know about her patronage?

Wasn't everyone just another monitor on some level?

So no, she wasn't going home. No, she wasn't seeing Delphine.

Getting back to the loft, she found the door padlocked shut and she frowned, retrieving a rarely-used key from her bag.

"Dinner at S's. Come join us if you feel up to it. -Sarah" Was all the note said and Cosima deposited it in the trash.

No she didn't feel up to it. She stripped out of her work clothes, slipping on a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants instead, retrieving a small baggy from Felix's hidden stash and a bottle of scotch from beside the bed.

As her lungs filled with the herbal smoke and her gut burned deliciously from the scotch, she couldn't help leaning back on the couch, her feet propped up on the coffee table. This was exactly how she wanted to spend Christmas- alone with nobody to bother her.

There was no one to try experimental tests on her.

There was no one to tell her to get over Delphine.

No one to lie to her.

No one to tell her she was too much of a burden to be with.

Exhaling another cloud of smoke, Cosima set the joint down, taking a pull from the bottle again as she picked up her phone. It was only when the world started spinning that she realized she hadn't eaten dinner. Well...at last that made her a cheap date. Pulling up her photo gallery, she sighed softly, light hazel eyes smiling at the camera, just the hint of a bare shoulder peeking out from the bedsheet. "Bitch." She cursed as she hit the trashcan button. She was so done with the French.

She could feel her eyelids getting heavy, sleep tugging at her senses. The worst part about falling asleep, she began to think, was that when she woke up, it would be Christmas. Taking one more hit from the joint, she rested her head against the back of the couch. "Bah-fucking-humbug." She groaned in a cloud of smoke, sleep taking over her.

THUD

Cosima jerked awake, regretting it immediately as a pain lanced through her skull and her stomach rebelled instantly. Eyes narrowed, she looked around in search of the noise that woke her. "What the fuck…" With a groan she reached for the bottle, about to take a swig when she heard it again.

THUD

Her brows furrowing, she looked to the front door where the sound had come from. Were Sarah and family back already? Pushing herself up off the couch, bottle still in hand, she barely caught herself from tumbling forward, alcohol and pot still coursing through her system. "Hold on." She never seemed to remember how bad of an idea cross-fading was. It always seemed like a good idea until she was wanting to hurl.

THUD

"I said hold on!" With a growl, Cosima fumbled with the screwdriver, cursing as it hit the floor. A loud huff and she pulled the heavy door open, expecting to find a familiar face waiting for her. Instead, there was no one. Nothing except an empty hallway. "Hello?" When no one answered she sighed.

Probably just some stupid kids playing pranks.

"Way to be fucking lame, assholes!" She called out, slamming the door with a grunt. When she turned around, she gasped, the bottle tumbling from her hand and crashing against the floor.

"Well that's graceful." A face no different from her own gave her a smirk from the small bar, the woman pouring herself a glass of some other amber liquor Felix had on hand.

"Beth…" There was no doubt in Cosima's mind who the woman was. Sarah had done a pisspoor job impersonating the clone that had brought them all together. "You're dead."

"Hello to you too, Cosima." The brunette moved to the couch, somehow walking straight through a chair before taking a seat. "Let's have a chat."

Taking a step around shattered glass and spilt alcohol, Cosima straightened her glasses. "This is obviously a hallucination. I shouldn't drink and smoke at the same time. I know I shouldn't and I do it every time."

"Do you really think I'm a hallucination?" Tipping back the glass, the drink passed right through her, soaking the cushion beneath her. Looking down, she frowned at the puddle. "God I miss whiskey so much."

It had to be a hallucination. She didn't believe in ghosts. Ghosts were just the creation of overactive imaginations.

"Sit down." Beth commanded.

As if she had no will of her own, Cosima found herself settling beside her long passed clone, only now noticing the slight transparency. "I'm so having a bad trip right now."

"Look… it's not like I enjoy wasting time visiting ungrateful brats before Christmas…"

"I almost forgot how much of a bitch you were."

Beth snorted. "Well I'm not the one sitting alone in the dark on Christmas eve am I?"

Rolling her eyes, Cosima picked up the long extinguished joint and lit it again. "Who's alone? I've got you for company."

"And that's what I'm here to warn you about."

"Warn me?" Cosima croaked out in a cloud of smoke, coughing slightly. "What the hell can you really warn me about? You're dead remember."

"Well you're not doing any better, dipshit." Beth smirked. "Look… I don't give a shit if you listen to me or not… I'm just here to warn you. You're going to be visited tonight."

"More visitors?" With a roll of her eyes, Cosima took another hit. "Can't wait."

"I'm serious Cosima. You're going to be visited tonight three times."

"Why? What makes me so special?"

Beth pushed herself up, moving to the paintings Felix had done of each clone. "You're not special… in fact you're quite the opposite."

With a cough, Cosima waved away a cloud of smoke. "Well you're just a ray of sunshine."

"No I'm dead and at the rate you're going, you're gonna be the next of us standing on the edge of the platform."

Cosima shrugged. "I'm already dying."

"NO!"

Cosima leaned back as a transparent face was just inches from her own. Only then did she see the breaks in the skin- a gash in her forehead large enough for her skull to show through.

"Keep this up and you're not the only one who will suffer. Everyone around you is at risk because you're too full of yourself to invite anyone in, a fact you won't realize until everyone is dead!"

"What?"

"Three visitors, Cosima! Prepare yourself!"

When Beth lunged at her again, Cosima closed her eyes, not even sure what to expect. The seconds touched by into minutes as she sat there expecting something...anything. For the longest moment, nothing came and only then did she risk opening her eyes, guiding herself completely alone in the room.

Her hands shaking, Cosima massaged her forehead, her eyes falling in the bottle she thought she had broken. "You are losing your shit, Cosima."

Deciding on sleep, she stretched out on the couch, dropping her arm over her eyes. She just needed to sleep it off.


	2. Christmases Past (Lady Zephyr)

“This is fucked.” Cosima whispers to herself, clutching her head in her hands. “So fucked… I’m just going back to bed.”

Too much pot. Booze. Was it just the mix? Maybe it was a bad bag of weed? Too psychotropic? Felix had better investigate finding a new supplier. No way was she sampling that weed again. Maybe Delphine had been right, maybe she should have taken her up on the medical marijuana license. At least that would have prevented this. The thought of Delphine causes a physical pang that reverberates throughout her body. No. She wasn’t going to think about it. It was stupid, and she was going to get over it. And under someone else, Cosima resolves to herself, as quickly as possible.

It couldn’t have been real. It couldn’t have been. Beth was dead. She’d thrown herself in front of a train. There wasn’t a ghost of her disturbed and distant clone-sister haunting her. It had to be the weed. Either way, Cosima resolves to tuck herself back into bed and try to sleep. Beth. Or her hallucination of Beth had vanished. She needs to sleep. Or at least try.

Cosima wakes to the loud chiming of a bell. She shoots up in bed looking around. Is there even that kind of clock in here? She hasn’t seen a clock like that in years. There certainly isn’t one like that in the loft. 

Then she sees it. 

At the foot of Felix’s bed, standing on the top step stands a tall lean figure in a long white robe. Its face is fully androgynous, and its pale strange eyes look back at her, observing her. Glowing skin. Definitely not human skin. This creature is something else entirely. Is this it then? Her own personal haunting?

What was she thinking, Cosima shakes her off new delusion, “You’re not real.”

“I’m not?” A calming voice answers her as the spirit mimics her own movements, tilting their head to the right. She blinks back at them. 

“No… you’re a drug and alcohol induced hallucination.” Cosima responds confidently.

The spirit laughs, “Well, I guess we’ll see about that.” With the wave of one delicate hand towards the window, it opens behind the bed. Cosima squeals, a rush of cold air hitting her. She immediately pulls the blankets back over herself.

“What are you?!” Cosima cries terrified. This is too real. Way too real. She may give up pot altogether after this. Fuck. 

“I am the Spirit of Christmas Past.” The spirit responds, ripping off most of the blankets with a second wave of their hand. If this is a hallucination, it’s a fucked up one.

Cosima nods, still clutching the retreating blankets. “Umm okay.”

“Come with me.” The spirit extends their hand, and she feels compelled to take it. Until the Spirit hops up next to her on the bed. She notices their entirely inhuman beauty, their impossible looking eyes. Ethereal. Strange. Not real. Too many video games, Cosima assures herself, and fantasy movies. It’s obviously loaded her subconscious with all sorts of shit. They get closer and closer to the open window, the spirit pulling her along. Clothed in nothing but her pyjamas, Cosima shudders at the cold.

“Fuck no. I’m not going out the window with a hallucination,” Cosima shakes her head in refusal, but the spirit gives her another tug and they soar outside in an instant, snow falling softly around them under the streetlamps. She clings to the hallucination for a moment, before releasing them. She can fly as long as continues to hold their hand.

Well this isn’t so bad then, Cosima figures. She tries to relax as they fly over the city. Suddenly it changes. No longer the snow covered streets of downtown Toronto, now much more familiar to her eyes.

“San Francisco.” She says the words aloud to the Spirit, who nods back at her. There’s no more snow. No more Toronto condo towers looming over the skyline. Instead she sees the Golden Gate Bridge. The houses and roads of her hometown.

“Whose past? How past? Long past? Are we talking…” Cosima trails off as the ghost regards her intently.

“Your past.”

They land in a backyard. So familiar. She looks out at the line of row houses on the hill. At the back door with its broken lock. At the hula hoops and skipping ropes littering the yard.

“This is my house.” Cosima stammers looking around, “This is my parents’ house!”

“Yes.” Answers the Spirit with a wide smile.

Cosima grimaces again,“Seriously? I don’t need to see myself playing with my Fisher Price farm under the Christmas tree while my parents coo at me.” 

A stern look from the Spirit cuts her off as she stares off in the same direction. This is one possible guilt trip it doesn’t look like she’s going to get out of.

Her next words are but a whisper, “And that’s me.”

A little girl leans against the window, her hair tied back in a long single braid behind her head. There are no glasses yet, no those would come later. But the child is already straining her eyes, reading a large book in a darkened room.

The Spirit takes her hand again and guides her through the walls. She hears another familiar sound. The sound of her parents’ arguing. 

“I thought we agreed we were doing the Santa Claus thing. I mean we don’t do religion…” Her father’s voice rings out clearly. 

Her mother throws back, “What? Was I supposed to keep lying to her? She asks so many questions. Why do I want my daughter to believe in a corrupted religious icon turned into a marketer’s fantasy to make me want to buy my child more stuff she’ll never use? She was already asking why Billy next door gets six presents from Santa. Last year.” Her mother emphasizes this.

“Oh I remember this.” Cosima grimaces looking at the Spirit. “Mom, Dad, knock it off!” Her parents didn’t fight that often, but it still grated on her.

“They cannot hear or see us.” The Spirit tells her gently.

She sees herself purposefully keeping just close enough that she can hear everything. One of the Narnia books clutched in her small hands. It’s open to page 42, but she can tell her younger self isn’t reading. She’s listening in. Her new Cabbage patch doll clutched on her lap. All the wrapping paper was stacked, brown paper, so that it would be recyclable. A few other presents, all socks and clothes, piled neatly, by her father, next to the chair.

“She’s in grade one! Now we’ll have parents calling us asking why Cosima told their kid there’s no such thing as Santa!” Her father groans, “She has enough trouble with the other kids as it is.”

“Oh, so you want to tell our daughter-”

“They didn’t believe me!” Cosima hollers up at her parents, face pink from the effort of getting their attention, “They told me I was stupid and that then where did the presents come from? Have they never heard of a store?” The small Cosima is indignant.

“Just give it up, kid.” Cosima sighs pointlessly at her younger self, “They’ll have you in a soup kitchen handing out bread rolls in another three years.” Her parents may want as little as possible to do with organized religion, but they’d both been infected by an insatiable desire for “doing good”, especially around the holidays. 

“See, Dominik?” Her mother indicates, gesturing around wildly, “No problem. Just like the winter holidays around the world book wasn’t a problem. We’re still all agnostic, even if she’s reading about religion.”

Her father sighs, calmer now, but turning his attention to their daughter, “Alright, Carolyn. What about you, Cosima? Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine.” The young Cosima answers, “Are you still going to make me sit on Santa’s lap so you can send pictures to Oma and Opa? I get to keep my doll, right?” At least they’d skipped the part of this Christmas where she’d repeatedly accused her parents of lying to her.

“No.” Dominik answers dropping down to her level, “Not if you don’t want to. And of course you get to keep your doll. Your mom and I got her for you.”

“That’s your choice Cosima. We can take another photo for Oma and Opa. Maybe one of the three of us at Thanksgiving?” Her mother suggests. 

The small Cosima agrees enthusiastically, “Are grandma and grandpa still coming today?”

“Yes.” Her mom smiles, “But not until lunch time. Do you want hot chocolate now?”

“Yes!” The little Cosima is enthusiastic, jumping up still clutching her doll. 

“Good idea,” Dominik agrees, “I will make it, do you want to help me, munchkin?” She watches her own small hand slide into her father’s.

The older Cosima observes the scene, and the pointed look of the Spirit. “Oh come on, it’s just kid stuff! I got a doll. I was happy. Big deal.” Cosima shrugs, observing the scene again.

The Spirit shrugs at her, their inhumane face glowing slightly, offering their hand once again.

The Spirit shows her a few other Christmases. All modest, few gifts exchanged between the family of three. Many involved Carolyn and Dominik involving Cosima with some charity. And indeed the famous, ‘handing out bread rolls’ Christmas. A few had her aunt and then-teenaged cousins visiting, both of them doting on Cosima, happily playing monopoly with their ten year old cousin. Engaging her on books. It was kind of cute in a way, Cosima acknowledged grudgingly observing the scene. 

They were simple. But they were warm. And they were happy. It touched her slightly, a hundred little moments. Baking with her mother. Reading with her dad. And all the volunteer work.

 

“Okay, you’ve proved your point, Spirit. Christmas isn’t so bad. It’s fun for the kids. Good will towards all humans and so forth.” Cosima mocks the sentiment slightly, “And Christmas is not responsible for my shitty luck that I am a clone. Can I go home now?” It wasn’t the time for this bullshit. It was a commercialism loaded holiday that became way less relevant when dying of a mysterious clone illness. 

Instead she found herself outside another familiar home, this one in Berkeley.

“Oh god… not this… not this Christmas.” Cosima pleads with the Spirit. “I don’t want to watch this one.”

“Look Cosima,” The Spirit tells her again. 

“This is Adrienne’s house.” Cosima grimaces, “I only dated her for like seven months. Do I have to watch this?”

Her younger self is older now, nineteen years old, nervously holding her girlfriend’s hand on the porch.

“And it’s really just a stolen pagan ritual.” Younger-Cosima blabs away to her girlfriend.

Adrienne rolls her eyes, running a hand through her own short straight hair, “Cosima, different people believe different things. It’s fine. Just… don’t say that in front of my mother.”

“But she’s religious, Adrienne… I don’t understand why you’re even bringing me. isn’t it going to be all ‘you’re going to hell’.” 

“Can we please get through one dinner with my family without you insulting their religious beliefs…. I thought you said you’d done this before.”

The ill-thought out boyfriend, both Cosimas wince. Ugh.

But it is the younger one that answers, “Daniel was Jewish, but only like culturally. His parents just did the holidays. They weren’t religious. They didn’t even keep kosher. It’s not the same… Your parents, like, go to church.”

“Fuck… why did you have to say that.” Cosima tries to accost her younger self but it’s no use. 

“Cosima… leave it.” Adrienne pleads, “Just… be nice. Okay?”

“I can be nice.”

 

“Uh huh.” Adrienne rolls her eyes, “Which is why you’ve been making fun of my Catholic family for the last three weeks. You don’t have to go to mass with us, we did that this morning… Just let it slide. And don’t start touching everything.”

“And why so much stuff?” Cosima points out, “If they’re so religious, shouldn’t they be using this to help people. I mean you and your sisters aren’t kids anymore. Why do presents at all?”

“I have two little sisters.” Adrienne reminds her, “17 and 14 years old…”

She hadn’t forgotten that either. Why had she even dated Adrienne? Is it because she was the first other lesbian she knew? Adrienne was cute, and nice… but damn. Not compatible. She’d never even been in love with her, but she’d liked her a lot. Enjoyed her company, and her body, immensely.

 

“Yeah… that’s still too old for…” Cosima cuts herself off as Adrienne’s mother answers the door. 

“You must be Cosima,” The woman smiles warmly, “Welcome to our home.” She takes it all in again. The huge tree. The remaining large pile of presents. It’s ridiculous and opulent and overly commercial. The whole place looked like a department store Christmas catalogue threw up over the living room. Stockings hung by the fireplace. Baked goods on trays. The large, heavily decorated tree. It was too much.

“Umm hi Mrs. Longo. It’s nice to meet you.” Cosima extends her hand formally, to have it warmly shaken.

“Do you girls want anything? Tea? Coffee? Wine? Dinner’s not ready yet. But I’m sure Adrienne will show you around, introduce you to her sisters. My husband Bob is on a last minute run to grab his mother and bring her over.”

“Wine…?” Her younger self balks, “We’re not legal.”

“Oh, we’re Italian…” Mrs. Longo brushes her off, “If you want a half-glass with dinner it’s nothing. Even Adrienne’s sisters do that.”

“Does Nonna know?” Adrienne looks at her mother and back to Cosima.

“We’ve decided not to tell Nonna about your girlfriend for you.” Mrs. Longo smiles sheepishly, “It’s Adrienne’s choice to tell her or not.”

Adrienne turns bright pink and looks at her apologetically. “Can we not tell Nonna?”

“Umm… awkward. Yeah I’m Cosima. Your daughter’s lesbian girlfriend.” The younger Cosima seems to be intent on making things worse.

The Longos were nothing but kind to her. Sure their Christmas was extravagant. And they were religious. But they’d opened their home to her, and had been nothing but kind to her. 

“Okay, yeah, Spirit, I get it. I was an asshole to Mrs. Longo… and I shouldn’t have been to rude to Adrienne’s Nonna…” Cosima grimaces at the scene. There she was, sitting at the dinner table next to Adrienne, holding hands under the table. A full table, surrounded by too many people. Kids running around. Adults getting drunk. Adrienne’s eight year old cousin getting into a box of chocolate liqueurs and giggling madly until her aunt took the mostly finished box away from her. It was nice. Pleasant even. Her younger self had felt it.

Then she hears herself say it, “Corrupted pagan ritual.”

“Fuck…” Older Cosima grimaces into her hand, while having to watch Adrienne’s family get hurt and offended. People who’d done nothing but be kind to her. Bizarre enough considering their religion thing…

“They were kind people.” The Spirit looks at her with a wry smile.

“They were.” Cosima acknowledges, “Their Christmas was way over the top though… But lots of people I guess. Kids laughing. It was loud and crazy and… everything my Christmases weren’t, you know? Her uncle dressed up like Santa … just nuts…”

“And they welcomed you.”

“Yeah.” Cosima acknowledges guilty. She didn’t want Christmases like that, and really didn’t want any kind of Christmas in the present tense, but she couldn’t deny the Longos' hospitality.

“There’s more to see,” The Spirit extends their hand again, and Cosima has nothing else to do but follow.


	3. Memories From the Other Side (jaybear1701)

The moment Cosima’s fingertips brush against the Spirit’s hand, they soar up into the air once again. Cosima yelps in surprise, stomach dipping from the abrupt lift-off, and she’s sure she spies a small smile on the beautifully androgynous features of her ethereal guide. They head straight through a pack of clouds and Cosima shivers when the water vapors envelop them. The mist becomes denser and denser, until Cosima can see nothing, not even the Spirit. If not for the cool grip around her palm, Cosima could easily believe she’s alone, gliding aimlessly through misty white and gray.

 

“Wh--where are you taking me now?” Cosima tries to ask, but the whipping wind swallows her voice and she resigns herself to remaining at the mercy of the strange creature leading her to god knows where for whatever freakin’ reason.

 

They land shortly thereafter, the descent thankfully more gradual than the ascent, but Cosima’s legs still wobble and give out when her feet touch solid ground. The Spirit releases her and she collapses onto a sidewalk, hard cobblestone digging painfully into her kneecaps. She looks up to see the Spirit walking up the steps of an elegant rowhouse illuminated by twinkling white Christmas lights outlining darkened windows. A large, festive wreath of balsam fir adorns the front door, deep red bows contrasting with green. The Spirit stops in front of it before turning to check on Cosima.

 

“Thanks for the help, dude, or whatever the hell you are,” Cosima grunts, lifting herself to her feet and dusting off her pajama pants, unable to believe her knees are actually stinging. This _was_ just a hallucination, right?

 

“Where are we?” She asks, not recognizing her surroundings in the slightest. It’s a quiet street, with other homes similarly decorated for the holidays.

 

The Spirit tilts its head to the side, but says nothing and merely glides in right through the front door. Cosima’s jaw drops. As if this dream-slash-bad trip-slash-hallucination couldn’t get any crazier. She briefly, stubbornly, considers staying put. She refuses to be at the beck and call of some reticent figment of her imagination. But then a distant clock tower chimes 1 and a young couple stumbles past her, drunk and so obviously (disgustingly) in love. They whisper sweet nothings to each other in _French_ and Cosima draws in sharp breath.

 

Her heart throbs against her ribcage at the realization of where she _might_ be and, before she can stop herself, she’s bounding up the stairs two steps at a time. She pauses outside the door, stomach twisting with anxiety about what -- or rather, _who_ \-- might be on the other side, when the Spirit’s hand materializes in front of her and unceremoniously yanks her inside by the sleeve of her t-shirt.

 

It takes a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room and when they do, Cosima takes in a cozy family room that smells of sweet pine, salty smoke, and roasted chestnuts. A Christmas tree stands tall next to a fireplace, its colorful glass ornaments and silver tinsel catching the light from embers that still smolder orange in the hearth. Cosima counts four stockings hanging from the mantle, her gaze immediately locking onto an emerald one with a _D_ emblazoned on it in intricate calligraphy. Cosima takes a step back and glares at the Spirit, anger rising hot in her chest.

 

“What are we doing here?” Cosima hisses out, grabbing the Spirit by the lapel of its silky white robe, ready to throttle it for its audacity. “What in the hell are you thinking…?”

 

A soft thud on hardwood interrupts Cosima’s line of questioning, followed by another and another, and she freezes. The fine hairs along the back of Cosima’s neck begin to rise as the Spirit gazes serenely at whoever is behind her. Mouth suddenly parched, Cosima turns slowly, slowly, slowly until she spots a young girl sneaking down the stairs, one hand clasped on the garland-wrapped banister trying to make as little noise as possible. Her short blonde curls bob up and down as she makes her way down the last few steps. She’s 6, maybe 7 years old, but Cosima already knows without a shadow of a doubt who it is. Even at such a young age, the girl is _lovely_ , and Cosima’s breath hitches.

 

“Delphine,” she whispers, stomach bottoming out as she releases the Spirit and watches the girl pad over to a coffee table at the center of the room. She’s so overwhelmed by the sight of young Delphine that Cosima can hardly remember her anger with _adult_ Delphine.

 

She watches the blonde look down at an untouched plate of chocolate chip cookies and a full glass of milk, shake her head, and proceed to a nearby closet. Delphine opens the door and rummages inside, as quietly as possible.

 

“What is she…?” Cosima begins, but Delphine has already finished. Shutting the door and pulling out a small piece of paper and a pencil from her red nightgown, she crosses something off and then proceeds to the kitchen. Cosima can’t help but follow, forever a slave to the pull Delphine always seems to have over her.

 

The Spirit glides wordlessly behind her. Delphine checks the pantry. The cabinets. She’s meticulous and methodical, so much like her older self in drive and focus and precision that an ache spreads center-mass within Cosima. She searches and searches and searches, but doesn’t find whatever she’s looking for. With a huff, Delphine takes a small flashlight from a kitchen drawer and crosses over to yet another door. Behind it is a staircase that descends into darkness.

 

Delphine pauses at the top of the steps, a shadow of trepidation ghosting across her features. She shakes her head, a look of determination that Cosima knows all too well setting into her hazel eyes. She takes a step forward when a voice softly rings out.

 

_“Delphine?”_

 

Cosima whirls around at the sound at the same time Delphine does, her heart leaping into her throat and jolting into overdrive.

 

_“Qu’est-ce que tu fais?”_ An even younger boy asks. His hair is golden and curly, just like Delphine’s. But unlike Delphine in all her bright determination, he looks slight. Frail. As if the slightest gust of wind might knock him flat on his ass. Rubbing his eyes with tiny little fists, he stands at the foot of the stairs leading to the second floor.

 

“ _Julien,”_ Delphine breathes out in relief. Her voice is higher than Cosima’s used to hearing, but no less melodic. _“Tu m’as fait peur! Retourne au lit.”_

 

_“Non, qu’est-ce que tu fais?”_ Julien repeats with a stubborn frown.

 

_“Rien,”_ Delphine runs a hand through her hair. _“Je cherche pour les monstres.”_

 

Cosima’s brow furrows as she watches the exchange. “What are they saying?” She asks the Spirit, who raises a delicate finger to its lips, and Cosima nearly growls in frustration. Inwardly cursing herself, she wishes she had taken Delphine’s French lessons more seriously.

 

“ _Non.”_ The boy stomps a booty-clad foot. _“Tu mens. Tu essayes de trouver la preuve que P_ è _re Noël n’existe pas. J’ai entendu quand tu l’as dit à maman et papa.”_

 

Delphine exhales deeply, clearly trying to maintain her temper. “ _Ne sois pas stupide. Tu veux être attraper par les monstres?”_

 

_“Non.”_

 

_“Puis retourne au lit.”_

 

Julien crosses his arms defiantly and Delphine narrows her eyes.

 

“ _Non,”_ he says _. “Je veux voir si les cadeux sont cachés là aussi.”_ He tilts his head in the direction of the basement stairs. _“Laisse-moi te suivre ou je vais te dénoncer à maman et papa.”_

 

Delphine sighs. _“Vraiment? Tu le veux voir?”_

 

_“Oui.”_

 

Delphine’s shoulders sag in reluctant acquiescence. _“D’accord. Mais tu dois rester ici.”_

 

Julien grudgingly nods and sits on the bottom step, apparently content to wait for Delphine to search the basement. With another sigh, Delphine flicks on the flashlight and slowly walks down to the lower floor, wood creaking slightly beneath her feet. Cosima and the Spirit follow. The air turns mustier and Cosima can hear Delphine’s breaths grow harsher and harsher until she reaches a string and pulls it, a lone bulb switching on and bathing the unfinished storage space in yellow, artificial light. Delphine turns off the flashlight and begins moving boxes and poking inside them. They’re all filled with dusty knickknacks and magazines, old video cassettes and fading picture albums. Nothing catches Delphine’s attention and she grows more and more frustrated. Cosima feels a strange, completely irrational, desire to help the girl despite knowing that she physically can’t.

 

Delphine’s about to give up when she notices a stack of boxes in front of what looks like the door to a cubby of sorts. Cosima holds her breath along with Delphine, who approaches it tentatively and clears enough space for her to open it. When she does, she shines her flashlight into the hole and gasps. Inside are at least a dozen presents, each wrapped beautifully in festive paper and ribbons. With trembling fingers, Delphine reaches out and flips a tag on one of the gifts.

 

It reads: _À Delphine, de P_ è _re Noël._

 

Delphine drops the small piece of cardboard and covers her mouth with her hand, stifling a small sob that could be one of sadness. Or relief. Perhaps both. Or neither. Cosima isn’t sure. All she knows is that her heart squeezes at the sight and she has an overwhelming desire to wrap young Delphine in her arms. To tell her she’s not alone. To let her know that she too felt the sting of disappointment when her mother had told her the truth about Santa Claus, when she realized her parents and society had deceived her and other children for years.

 

Quickly wiping her eyes, Delphine takes several deep breaths before closing the cubby and carefully rearranging the boxes back in front of it. She leaves no trace of her snooping. She turns off the bulb and makes her way back up the stairs with her flashlight, her footsteps soft and determined. When she reaches the family room, Julien stands immediately, a look of anxious expectation on his face.

 

_“Il y a rien,”_ Delphine blurts out.

 

A relieved smile breaks out across Julien’s face. _“Vraiment?”_

 

_“Oui.”_

 

_“Donc…”_ His voice is so small, so hopeful, that it tugs at all the strings wound tight around Cosima’s heart. _“P_ è _re Noël existe?”_

 

Cosima watches as Delphine breaks eye contact with the boy and bites her lip, tension evident by her rigid stance, the way her throat muscles constrict with a tight swallow.

 

_“Oui,”_ she says with a nod and even though Cosima doesn’t completely understand what they’re saying, she knows deep in her bones that Delphine is lying.

 

Cosima’s surprised when she doesn’t feel a corresponding flare of anger at Delphine’s dishonesty. But really… how could she be upset, especially when Julien laughs in such delight. Cosima sees Delphine visibly relax now that, her lie has been accepted. She ruffles the boy’s hair and then takes his hand, disappearing with him back up the stairs.

 

“She never mentioned a brother,” Cosima murmurs to herself after a few silent beats. A pang of shame lodges between her ribs. How much did she really know about Delphine and her family? Not much, apparently. Or perhaps even nothing at all. Delphine had briefly mentioned her parents, back when she was pretending to be doctoral candidate Delphine Beraud. And Cosima had dismissed that information as inauthentic once the truth came out. And afterward? She had been too caught up in the passion of their whirlwind romance, the secrets and lies, the betrayal to focus on anything else. Why had she never tried to find the woman underneath it all?

 

Their surroundings begin to blur and haze and Cosima turns to the Spirit. “Why did you show this to me?”

 

“You see only what is necessary,” the Spirit replies in an even tone. It moves toward a window that morphs from a blank slate of black to frosted white, snowflakes hitting the panes.

 

“And what exactly is necessary?“ Cosima grits her teeth so hard she’s sure she’s grinding bone. She’s running out of patience for the Spirit and whatever inane lessons its trying to impart. “Who decides that?”

 

“You’re asking the wrong questions.”

 

“Then what are the right ones?” Cosima snaps, thrusting her hands up in frustration.

 

“You already know,” the Spirit answers with the same infuriating calmness.

 

_“Know what?”_ An achingly familiar French accented voice interrupts. 

 

Cosima spins around, disoriented by the fact that she’s no longer standing in the Cormier family room. Instead, she’s in a hospital room.  Private, by the looks of it. The heavy antiseptic scent in the air, as well as the new memory in front of her, make Cosima’s stomach churn unpleasantly.

 

Delphine is now in her late teens, possibly early 20s, long limbed and slightly awkward, but still beautiful, even without makeup. She sits beside a bed occupied by Julien, who looks even sicklier than when Cosima had last seen him. His blonde curls are gone and he wears a cannula. His paper-thin skin hangs like a loose and over-large sweater over his bones and Cosima can easily make out the blue patchwork of his veins. He barely seems to have the energy to lift a hand to move a white knight on the chessboard situated between him and Delphine.

 

_“You and I both know I’m not going to make it to college,”_ Julien says matter-of-factly, reclining back against the pillows used to prop him up into a sitting position. _“So there’s really no point in practicing my English.”_

 

_“Don’t be ridiculous,”_ Delphine scolds with a shake of her head. Her hair is long, pulled back into a loose ponytail that falls in golden waves down the center of her back. _“You’re going to be fine. You’ll be out of here in no time.”_

 

Julien snorts. _“Is that why maman and papa aren’t here? Because they’re just_ so _optimistic about my recovery?”_

 

_“You know they had a conference in the States.”_ Delphine pushes up a pair of black, thick rimmed glasses higher on her nose. She hasn’t yet gotten basic Lasik, Cosima observes with a wry smile.

 

She approaches the pair and watches them quietly, ignoring the discomfort of being an unwelcome observer.

 

_“Yeah, right,”_ Julien says as Delphine captures one of his pawns with her rook. _“A conference so important they had to be there at Christmas.”_

 

_“Julien,”_ Delphine sighs. She looks so weary that Cosima wants nothing more than to reach out and lay a comforting hand on Delphine’s shoulder, to rub soothing circles down her back. _“You know they’d be here, if they could.”_

 

_“No they wouldn’t. They can’t stand the sight of me.”_ There’s no bitterness in Julien’s voice, but his words make Cosima bleed a little on the inside for him.

 

_“That’s not true.”_ Delphine reaches out to capture Julien’s hand before he can make his next chess move.

 

_“Isn’t it?”_ Julien laughs, but its devoid of humor. _“Just like P_ è _re Noël exists, right Delphine?”_

 

Sighing, Delphine releases his hand and sits back in her chair with enough force that its metal legs scrape against the room’s checkered tile. _“You’re never letting that go, are you? We were just kids.”_

 

_“Exactly.”_ He pushes his bishop diagonally several spots until it’s lined up with Delphine’s king. _“Check. We’re not children anymore, Delphine. You don’t have to protect me. I can handle the truth.”_

 

Delphine rakes her teeth over her bottom lip, appraising her brother with sad hazel eyes. _“Okay.”_

 

_“Okay?”_

 

_“Yeah, okay.”_ Delphine nudges her king away from a checkmate and the corners of Julien’s mouth tilt up slightly. They play without speaking for several minutes, the silence punctuated by the steady beeps of Julien’s heart monitor. Cosima looks to the Spirit, who watches the scene as impassively as ever. Cosima knows better than to ask any more questions. She won’t get a straight answer anyway.

 

_“I never really liked chess,”_ Julien confesses after they’ve both been whittled down to their last remaining pieces.

 

_“We’ve been playing all these years and_ now _you tell me this?”_ Delphine scoffs good-naturedly. _“What don’t you like? The strategy? The patience? Always losing to your brilliant sister?”_

 

_“Your modesty never fails to astound me, Delphine,”_ Julien chuckles, genuinely this time. _“And none of the above. I just don’t like its underlying message.”_

 

_“Which is?”_

 

_“Like you don’t already know.”_

 

Delphine shrugs. _“Enlighten me.”_

 

Julien rolls his eyes. _“That the ends justify the means. That any sacrifice is worth it, if you win.”_

 

Cosima agrees with him and turns to watch Delphine’s reaction. Delphine blinks at Julien, eyelashes fluttering slowly. Breathes in. Breathes out. She carefully considers his words, but ultimately says nothing and Cosima desperately wishes she knew what’s going on in Delphine’s head.

 

She clears her throat and changes the subject. _“I got selected for an internship,”_ Delphine says, moving her queen into a position she knows will leave her vulnerable. But if Julien takes the bait, Cosima notes, Delphine will checkmate him in three moves.

 

_“Oh?”_ Julien asks distractedly. Despite his focus on the match, he falls for Delphine’s gambit and captures the Queen.

 

_“With the Dyad Institute.”_

 

Cosima stiffens as Delphine continues, “ _The advances they’ve made in medical sciences and biotechnology,”_ Delphine blows a stream of air upward and ruffles her bangs, _“they’re right on the cutting edge. They might even cure the incurable. Someday.”_

 

_But not soon enough to save you._ The unspoken words, charged and potent, hang heavily between Delphine and Julien, who looks up and gives his sister his full attention. _“That’s wonderful, Delphine. Truly.”_ He smiles at Delphine, eyes full of sincerity. _“I’m so proud of you.”_

 

Lips trembling slightly, Delphine’s gaze become watery and Cosima can feel an accompanying sting behind her own. _“Thank you.”_ She makes her final move on the board. _“Checkmate.”_

 

_“Quoi? Merde!”_ Julien exclaims, unable to believe his defeat. He glances up at his grinning sister. _“Best of 3?”_

 

Delphine quirks an eyebrow up at him. _“I thought you didn’t like chess.”_

 

_“I don’t_ love _it,”_ Julien states. _“But I do love beating you and wiping that smug look off your face.”_

 

_“You’re on,”_ Delphine says and their laughter manages to warm Cosima straight down to her toes. They reorder the chessboard, turning it around so that Delphine now has the white pieces and Julien the black.

 

_“Delphine?”_

 

_“Mm?”_

 

_“Promise me something.”_

 

Delphine’s hands hover in place over the board. _“Anything.”_

 

_“Whatever happens to me…?”_ Julien takes a deep breath. _“Don’t let it change you.”_

 

She shakes her head vigorously. _“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”_

 

Julien smiles wistfully and takes her hands into his own, smoothing his thumbs over her knuckles. _“Just promise me.”_

 

Delphine swallows hard and nods, her voice cottony and thick with conviction when she says, simply, _“Je te promets.”_

 

Cosima turns away, releasing a pained breath that she held hot in her lungs for far too long, swiping at the wetness on her cheeks. “I can’t watch anymore,” she tells the Spirit.

 

The being inclines its head and holds out its hands. Cosima doesn’t hesitate in clasping the Spirit’s fingers. They rocket upward through the ceiling and out into the snowy night air where Cosima welcomes the chill. Gratefully embraces the escape. Futily hopes it will help cool the burning in her chest. Within minutes they’re landing yet again. This time, Cosima immediately recognizes their location. She can see the glowing needle point of the CN Tower against Toronto’s glimmering skyline.

 

The Spirit angles them toward a downtown high rise and Cosima soon finds herself inside a lavish penthouse suite. The open space is dark save for the overhead lights in the kitchen where Delphine sits on a barstool by the counter. Cosima inhales sharply. Delphine looks like she did when they first met at the University of Minnesota, with her blonde curls cascading down to her shoulders, almost haphazardly so. Except her face is flushed, as if she just finished…

 

Cosima shakes her head, not wanting to go down that train of thought. Instead, she lets her eyes roam over Delphine, who is so obviously naked underneath the thin, silk robe she’s wearing. She holds a lit cigarette between her pointer and middle fingers, the smoke floating up into the air in thin wisps, as she studies a stack of files. Cosima moves behind Delphine and peeks over her shoulder. The papers contain strings and strings of data and Cosima can’t really make heads or tails of them.

 

_“How do you like your Christmas present?”_ A man calls from the doorway to the bedroom. It’s a voice Cosima knows all too well and her stomach instantly sours. She snaps her head around to watch Aldous Leekie approach, also obviously naked underneath a burgundy velvet robe. Bitterness rises in the back of Cosima’s throat and she nearly gags from the sight.

 

_“It’s fascinating,”_ Delphine responds, a small smile lighting up her face. _“This autoimmune disorder… I’ve never seen anything like it.”_

 

Cosima stands paralyzed by the bolt of ice that shoots down her spine when she realizes what Leekie and Delphine are discussing. Or rather, _who_ they’re discussing.

 

Leekie hums in approval and walks to a drinks trolley. He helps himself to some Scotch, pouring a generous amount from a crystal decanter into a glass. He offers some to Delphine as well, but she politely declines with a shake of her head.

 

_“So you’ll join my team?”_

 

Delphine hesitates, _“I don’t know, Aldous. I would hate to leave my projects in Paris.”_

 

Nodding, Leekie takes a sip of his drink, an arrogant little smile on his face that Cosima wishes she could knock off with a well-timed right hook. _“And,”_ he waggles a finger in the air, _“what if I told you I’d make it worth your while?”_

 

Delphine tilts her head to the side and takes a long, slow drag of her cigarette, willing Leekie to continue with her silence. He disappears briefly into a private office and emerges with two manila folders in his hand.

 

_“What if I told you that the subject is but one of a few?”_ He places one of the folders on the countertop and slides it toward Delphine.

 

_“One of a few of what?”_

 

Instead of answering, Leekie nods toward the folder, which Delphine picks up. Her brow furrows when she opens it and looks at the contents. Her mouth forms an astonished “O” when she begins pulling out pictures of women who share Cosima’s face, only with differing hairstyles.

 

_“They’re…”_

 

_“Genetic identicals.”_

 

_“How…”_ Delphine can’t seem to tear her eyes away from the photos. _“How is this possible?”_

 

_“I’d be more than happy to explain,”_ Leekie shrugs as he slinks toward Delphine like a smarmy snake, _“if you agree to join me.”_

 

Delphine sits up on the stool, clearly speechless.

 

_“You’d even be given your own subject to study.”_ He hands her the other folder and Cosima squeezes her fists so hard her nails could break skin. She already knows what’s inside. _“Think of the lives we could save, the diseases we could cure, through this technology.”_

 

Delphine looks sharply at him, nostrils flaring imperceptibly, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flash of pain in hazel, and Cosima has no doubt that she’s thinking about Julien. What became of him, Cosima wonders as she watches Delphine slowly open the folder. Obviously fascinated, the blonde lifts up a candid photo of Cosima, pre-dreads, grinning widely at something. Cosima can’t quite place the time or location of the picture, but she does notice her tag number marked on the back in neat scrawl. Delphine scans the accompanying file briefly before she lifts her gaze back to Aldous, who leans against the counter, invading her personal space.

 

_“342b21,”_ Delphine says softly, almost reverently, and Cosima’s stomach flutters despite herself. _“What’s her name?”_

 

Leekie’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. _“Her name?”_

 

_“The name she was given at birth.”_ Delphine’s mouth twists wryly. _“Self-explanatory, I would think.”_

 

_“That’s not really relevant, Dr. Cormier.”_

 

Delphine’s lips form a thin line at Leekie’s use of her formal title and she sets her shoulders back, defiant. _“It is relevant,”_ she looks him straight in the eye, _“if you want me on your team.”_

 

A swell of pride surges within Cosima and she smiles smugly at Leekie’s wrinkled, bald head. She doesn’t even care that he can’t see it.

 

_“And why is that?”_ Leekie asks, as if he’s humoring a child.

 

_“Because they could be sick. Because they’re human. They should be treated as such. Otherwise,”_ Delphine fixes Leekie with a gaze of steel, _“my answer is no.”_

 

To Cosima’s surprise, Leekie’s condescension melts away and his lips turn up in an actual, genuine smile. _“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me, Delphine.”_ He reaches out and tenderly strokes the back of his knuckles down the curve of Delphine’s cheek.

 

Cosima’s jealousy seizes her swiftly and surely, wringing her stomach, and she’s never wished more in her life that she could be like Helena; maybe dig out Leekie’s beady little eyes or slice off his… appendages.

 

_“Cosima Niehaus,”_ Leekie finally says. _“Finishing up her master’s in microbiology at Berkley. Possibly eyeing a doctorate next year at the University of Minnesota.”_

 

_“Cosima,”_ Delphine repeats gratefully, but makes no other move toward Leekie, much to Cosima’s relief. She isn’t sure she’d be able to withstand any more gross displays of affection between Leekie and her ex.

 

_“So have I convinced you?”_ Leekie asks expectantly.

 

Delphine smirks and takes another pull from her cigarette. _“Maybe.”_ She blows a stream of smoke toward Leekie’s face. _“I’ll let you know in the morning.”_

 

Leekie only chuckles, pushing away from the counter and making his way back to the bedroom. _“Don’t stay up too late now, Dr. Cormier.”_

 

Delphine doesn’t respond. Instead, she stubs out her cigarette, pulls Cosima’s file closer, and arranges the papers in neat stacks in front of her. She delicately pinches a corner of Cosima’s picture and lifts it, her eyes studying the image intensely, as if she’s trying to memorize every single miniscule detail. After a few moments, she traces the edges of Cosima’s visage, delicately, with the tip of her finger before placing the photo down and turning her attention to the files.

 

Cosima doesn’t know what to make of what she’s seeing or the bittersweet warmth blooming beneath her breast. But before she can dwell on it longer, she feels the Spirit tugging on her arm again. She follows willingly now. No questions asked. And after another brief flight filled with thoughts of Delphine, heart swollen and heavy in her chest, Cosima finds that they’re back in the grungy hallway outside of Felix’s loft.

 

She licks her lips and glances at the Spirit, not sure how to put her confusing jumble of emotions into words. In the end, she focuses on the slippers on her feet--wooly pink monstrosities that Alison insisted she have--unable to bear that patient and knowing gaze that seems to pierce right through her.

 

“Look,” Cosima starts, pinching the bridge of her nose underneath her frames, “I just wanna…” Her voice dies out when she looks up and finds that she’s talking to herself. The Spirit is nowhere to be seen. “Oh what the hell.”

 

Sighing, she turns toward the loft’s sliding door and opens it. She leans back wearily against it after she closes it once more. Closing her eyes, she thuds the back of her head on the cold metal a few times. When she opens her eyes again, she’s thankful Sarah and Felix are still gone.

 

She’s alone.

 

That is, until she notices the figure lounging atop Felix’s bed as if he was casually lying on a warm, sandy beach in some tropical locale. His legs are stretched out and he has his hands folded behind his blond head, on which sits a crown made of spiky holly. When he sees Cosima, he flashes her a winsome grin and sits up, lean muscles rippling beneath his fur-lined, green camouflage robe.

 

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he says, dimples apparent even through his scruffy stubble.

 

“Paul?” Cosima asks, flabbergasted. “What the hell are you doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to **LadyZephyr** for help with all things French!


End file.
